


Shock

by theprydonian_archivist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-27
Updated: 2008-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprydonian_archivist/pseuds/theprydonian_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back at the Academy for 10 and the Master, this is a mix between slash and humor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Prydonian](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Prydonian). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [The Prydonian collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theprydonian/profile).

Being friends with the Master was a constant game of chicken.

 

“Is that for me?” he said, knocking the Doctor against the wall and pinning him with his knee, feeling the erection beneath the fabric. “You must've been in here alone for a while, you feel pretty close. What, thinking about what's-her-face in E-Mag class?”

 

The Doctor could have sworn Master was just coming in to wash his hands, didn't think much of it when he bolted the door, or charged into him like a bolt of lightning across the room.

 

Before he could call out, the Master placed one hand over his mouth, while the other undid his belt. “Come on then, you gonna tell on me?”

 

“I have to speak in class today,” the Doctor said, glaring at him, “Everyone's waiting in the hall!” but those were the last words he was allowed. Master leaned in on his face, having successfully brought the Doctor's erection into the air.

 

“Oy, and you're wearing black slacks today. Do you really want to come all over those before presenting a lecture?” he said, working it softly in his grip. The Doctor's knees began to buckle, and he thought back to the stupid prank they'd been involved in the day before.

 

“I bet,” the Master had said to the Doctor after class one day, “You can't keep your hands on the generator terminal for ten seconds.” What friend could turn down a challenge like that?

 

Multiple attempts at electrocuting him failed, as the Doctor placed his hands on the live terminal and, although the heat was mildly uncomfortable, didn't turn into a charcoal briquette.

 

Master clicked his teeth. “Hold on.” he said, as he placed his friend's feet in a bowl of water. Nothing.

 

“Wait, let me try this.” he said, as he soaked all of the Doctor's clothes with the emergency firehose. Nothing.

 

The Doctor smiled, he could do this all day. “Maybe I should bite one of the coils?” he said, testing his theory, “Rih dis?” He spat them out. “Ow ow ow ow, I mean, you should try this.”

 

“Actually...” he said, fiddling with his shirt collar, “Try that while.....hold on.” He rushed back into the storage room, pulling open dusty containers. “AH,” he cried out, “Try poking the terminal with this.”

 

A prouder countenance could not have been found if Napolean Bonaparte had caught the flu on his coronation day and asked Master to stand in for his portrait, provided that, instead of standing in Notre Dame Cathedreal and holding the Crown of the Empire, the painter moved him to an unheated basement clutching a steel tomato cone.

 

“Okay, “ Master said, “Poke it with this, bite the cable, THEN stand in the bowl of water. For ten seconds.”

 

There was no 'or what?' quip in response, just the smirk at wondering what would come next if this combination failed to cook his innards.

 

A split second later the Doctor was flat on his back, his hair singed and socks raised up in a twitchy little V.

 

Master counted to ten, staring down in horror. “You're not,” he said gingerly, “You're not gonna tell the professor are you?”

 

“What, are you crazy?” he replied, the cone still gripped in his fingers. “He'd kill us both!”

 

But now he was back in the washroom, his face faced flushed in a mixture of heady exhileration and frustration at being late for class.

 

The Master whispered softly, “Who were you thinking about before I got here, hm? Was is that girl?” He pumped his hand a bit faster, feeling the tension. “Or was it me?”

 

The Doctor didn't think he would be able to stand much more of this. People were beginning to knock on the washroom door, asking if anyone was inside, that classes had started. “Do you think about me?” the Master continued, his breath hot on the man's neck, “Do you think about coming in my mouth?”

 

The Doctor made a little frantic noise into his mate's hand, as if to say Anything! Anything! The Master smiled, and bent down to finish him.

 

When it was over, the Master washed his hands, whistling slightly off-key, then looked over his shoulder as his friend slumped against the wall. “You're not gonna tell anyone are you?”

 

“What?” the Doctor said, a bit dazed, “No, are you crazy?”


End file.
